


Cost/Benefit Analysis

by sheepishwolfy



Series: Casual Hookups AU [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepishwolfy/pseuds/sheepishwolfy
Summary: Reed answered after just two rings, a drowsy, “Anderson? It’s like eleven—”“Something’s wrong with Connor,” Hank said, a little more harshly than he meant to.The sound of shuffling, floorboards creaking, and Reed said, without hesitation, “I’m on my way.”——Hank and Nines, at the end of their rope, have no choice but to call the one person who might be able to help Connor in his hour of need: Gavin mother fucking Reed.He’s just as surprised as they are.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Series: Casual Hookups AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514156
Comments: 7
Kudos: 259





	Cost/Benefit Analysis

“You need to call Gavin.”

Irritation sliced through the worry in Hank’s gut, his already prodigious frown deepening. He turned to Nines and asked, indignant, “Why in god’s name would I fucking call  _ Reed _ ?”

Nines, eyes still on the closed door at the end of the hallway, just shook his head a little. His LED flickered an anxious yellow. “Come on, dad, you’re not blind. You know why.”

Hank sighed, rubbed his eyes with one hand. He did know, he just didn’t particularly care to admit it. Now was not the time for denial, though. Connor needed—he needed  _ something _ , and neither he nor Nines could provide it. He could swallow his pride long enough to admit that, at least.

The phone chimed pleasantly as Hank took it off the charger in the kitchen. Scrolling through his contacts, he found the one labeled  _ Shithead _ and, despite his better judgement, dialed. The line rang, and the unpleasant desire for a beer curled in Hank’s throat. 

Instead he stuck his free hand in his pocket, thumbing the heavy 18 month sobriety chip within. 

Reed answered after just two rings, a drowsy, “Anderson? It’s like eleven—”

“Something’s wrong with Connor,” Hank said, a little more harshly than he meant to.

The sound of shuffling, floorboards creaking, and Reed said, without hesitation, “I’m on my way.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, Gavin was on the doorstep. In his haste, he’d simply thrown his leather jacket on over basketball shorts and a shirt that said Fuck Cops in bubbly script. Hank couldn’t help but be mildly impressed by the man’s dedication.

“What happened?” Gavin asked as soon as the door opened. He stepped past Hank into the living room, glancing quickly around. “Where is he?”

The three of them clustered at the mouth of the hallway, speaking in hushed tones. Gavin listened with all the same intensity he brought to a crime scene, hands on his hips, brows drawn low.

“He has these—it used to happen a lot, right after he deviated,” Hank explained. Concern creased his face, the real parental fear born of not knowing how to help your child. “Still gets them, sometimes, but this is the worst one in a long time. It’s like… a panic attack, I guess.”

“It’s an involuntary recall,” Nines said. “They’re common in androids that deviated before or during the revolution. Generally triggered by outside stimuli forcing a random-access memory dump of all related data—”

“Alright, Detective Wikipedia, it’s a  _ computerized  _ panic attack,” Gavin interjected, anxiety making him short. “What triggered it?”

“No idea,” Hank said. “He was in the kitchen, and then suddenly he spun red and went pale and excused himself. Won’t let anyone in.”

“Not even Sumo,” Nines added. The St. Bernard in question was curled in front of the closed door, head on his massive paws. 

“Christ,” Gavin murmured. That alone was the most worrying thing he’d heard yet. Connor loved that dog more than most people. Certainly more than Gavin. 

“Look if he won’t even let the dog in there I don’t know what you expect from me,” Gavin said, with a helpless little shrug. “It’s not like—”

“Gavin.” Nines’ voice was harder than he’d ever heard it, pale eyes sharp as he cut off his partner. “He needs you.”

Bowing his head, Gavin gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.”

They watched him approach the door, carefully stepping over Sumo. He leaned his shoulder against the wood, tapped twice with one knuckle, said something so softly that not even Nines’ keen hearing could pick it up. For a long moment, nothing happened, and all three held their breath—

And then, quietly, a muffled answer from within. Without a backward glance, Gavin pushed the door just wide enough to slip inside. That, at least, was progress.

Hank could only hope he’d made the right decision. 

* * *

Gavin knew Connor lived here, briefly, after deviating. Though he’d never seen it, Gavin always suspected the android’s room in the Anderson household would be a smaller version of his apartment. Plants flourishing on every surface, photos at tidy angles on the walls, books of every genre crammed, alphabetically and by size, onto shelves and stacked on the end tables. Immaculately cluttered. 

This was not the case. It was nearly empty, devoid of personality. A glass-topped desk, a rather uncomfortable looking chair, a single shelf bearing only a lamp above the bed in the corner. This room was… intimidating in its austerity. Much like Connor had been, almost four years ago.

Connor himself was curled on the bed, facing the wall. He didn’t move when Gavin entered, didn’t speak. Reed hovered near the door, wanting to do  _ something  _ but unsure of how to proceed.

After a moment’s hesitation, he asked simply, “What do you need?”

The tiniest shrug, a mere twitch of the shoulder, was Connor’s only response.

For lack of any direction, Gavin shucked his jacket, went to the bed and just… lay down next to him. It was a tight fit, two grown-ass men on a twin mattress, but he couldn’t think of a better idea. There was nothing he could  _ say _ that would be of use, all he had to offer was physical closeness. He hoped it was enough.

He was alarmed to find, as he settled into the stiff mattress, that Connor was trembling. Tentatively, Gavin placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder—and was even more alarmed when the android went rigid. 

This was it, thought Gavin. The step too far. They had crossed every other line at this point—spending the night, seeing each other on weekends, that kiss at work—but not this. Going to each other for comfort, being this vulnerable, was so far outside the scope of their interaction it was unfathomable. 

He should have come in and told Connor to get the fuck up, done the whole asshole song and dance that Hank and Nines would never have the spine to attempt. Of course he should have. Call Gavin Reed when you need someone to be a complete dick. This was such a fucking mistake—

Then Connor turned, curled himself against Gavin’s chest, breath shallow and stuttered. His hand went to Gavin’s waist, fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt. At his temple, his LED was a solid, overwhelming red.

“It’s okay,” Gavin said softly, even though it clearly wasn’t. He ran his hand down Connor’s spine to the small of his back, pulling him closer. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

The endearment just slipped out, but before Gavin could agonize over it, Connor clung tighter. So he kept going, murmuring platitudes, tracing idle little patterns against the thin line of skin where Connor’s shirt had ridden up. 

After a while, Connor spoke in a shaky whisper. “I just wanted to do the dishes.” 

“Fuck it, someone else can do them,” Gavin replied.

“No, I mean—” The android sighed, a resigned huff of breath against Gavin’s collarbone. “That’s what I was doing. Washing dishes. But the water was cold. Like the river, when we jumped off the Jericho during...during the raid that  _ I  _ lead there.”

Connor never, under any circumstances, talked about the revolution. Not even, as far as Gavin knew, to Hank or Nines. He was friends with the Jericho leaders, there were pictures in his apartment of Connor with Markus and North and the others. They worked together, but they also met on weekends and holidays, a little found family. But otherwise Gavin knew nothing about that week in November other than what little he was personally present for, and what he had seen on TV afterwards. 

He didn’t know how to respond. Any words Gavin could’ve strung together on his own were woefully insufficient, a bandaid on an amputation. 

So instead he repeated, gently, “What do you need?”

Connor shifted backwards a fraction of an inch, just enough that Gavin could see his face.

He decided, in that moment, that whatever Connor replied, he would do it. Gavin would do _anything_ to drive off the sorrow and fear and uncertainty in Connor’s eyes. Steal the moon from the sky, force the sun to rise. He would... he would fucking fight _god _if he had to.

Bur Connor, voice small and hoarse, made a simpler request. “Kiss me. Please, Gavin.”

He did. Would have, even without the asking. Feather-light, against Connor’s brow, his cheek, the red ring of his LED. Against his lips, equally soft and slow, sliding his fingers along Connor’s jaw to tilt his head just so.

When he pulled away, Gavin could see the faint glow in his periphery had shifted to yellow. He smiled, just a little, rested his forehead against Connor’s and asked, “That help?”

Connor, eyes still closed, murmured, “Yes.” His grip loosened on Gavin’s shirt, his shoulders drooped. “Positive sensory input can interrupt and override a negative feedback loop.”

“Oh.” Gavin wasn’t sure why the sterility of that statement stung him, only that it did. And that it shouldn’t have, because he knew what they were.

Then Connor added, hushed and tremulous, “I’m glad it was you.” 

Or maybe he didn’t know what they were, anymore. He kissed the top of Connor’s head, soft dark hair that curled when it was humid. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

Connor sat up, carefully extricating himself from Gavin’s arms. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t  _ have _ to,” Gavin said, pushing himself up. He swung his feet off the bed and onto the cool hardwood, maintained a careful distance from Connor. “I asked if you  _ want  _ me to.”

The android turned, LED still yellow. There was clear conflict in his expression that Gavin, by now, could read like a book. No doubt running a cost/benefit analysis:  _ I need you/the bed is too small, I want you/it’s Hank’s house, you’re already here/we can’t cross this line _ .

“It’s late,” was all he said. Not an acceptance, not a denial. 

“Okay,” Gavin replied, with a little nod. “Okay.”

He stood, plucked his jacket from where it was crumpled on the floor. As Gavin shrugged into it, Connor said, with a small laugh, “Nice shirt.”

Gavin glanced down.  _ Fuck Cops _ . He smiled and shrugged. “My mom bought it for me. She thought it was funny.”

“It is funny,” Connor agreed.

Putting a hand on the doorknob, Gavin paused. “You call me if you need anything. Alright? I don’t give a fuck what time it is.”

Connor seemed surprised, his eyebrows lifting. Then he stood, too, and said, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

* * *

Hank did not intend to spy. He had, honest to god, just been passing by the living room window to turn off the corner light. Then he saw them, by Gavin’s car, and the heady combination of  _ cop  _ and  _ dad  _ got the better of him. 

So what if he spied a little?

It was just over an hour since Gavin arrived when they’d re-emerged. Connor had still been yellow, still a little shaky, but he’d stopped to pet Sumo, and for that alone Hank was grateful. But that didn’t mean he was entirely  _ pleased  _ that his adopted son was now outside, embracing the biggest asshole in the DPD.

“ _ Dad _ ,” Nines hissed. “Leave them alone, what the fuck?”

“Shut up, kid, I’m allowed,” Hank said. With one finger he tugged at the slats in the blind, squinting through the narrow opening.

Outside, they had separated, but Gavin still held Connor by the hands. He ducked his head to meet the android’s lowered gaze, said something that made Connor nod and smile faintly. Then, just for a moment, when he looked up at Gavin’s face, Connor’s LED flickered blue.

Hank was forced to consider that maybe—and this was a big, fat fuckin’ maybe—Gavin Reed wasn’t the  _ biggest  _ asshole in the DPD. Maybe he was just a minor-key asshole.

Maybe he was even alright.

**Author's Note:**

> uh oh maybe it’s not so ~casual~ after all, there, boys. 
> 
> go ahead and follow me[on tumblr,](http://www.sheepishwolfy.tumblr.com) or check out my equally silly [twitter.](https://twitter.com/sheepishwolfy/)
> 
> thanks as always for your kind words and kudos and messages <3


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